Jab
by Citizenjess
Summary: Midterms suck, even in the Wizarding world. Written as a birthday gift for a few LiveJournal friends.


I do not own Harry Potter or any of his friends (or enemies). This was mostly written for sudaki as a birthday present-ish thing, but since jadedself, hautemonde and kashuarashi all had similar celebrations that same week, if you'd like, you can all share (no biting, though, please). I'd like to say this is one of the best things I've ever written, but ... well, it's actually kind of stupid. On the other hand, I checked, and they really do have pennies in England. Hooray for research!

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**Jab**

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Harry Potter did not particularly like Draco Malfoy. He did not, when he really stopped to think about it (but only for about half a second), really care much for anyone in Slytherin House. He was not incapable of making exceptions about people, per se, but as far as he was concerned, there wasn't a single Slytherin who displayed any other traits besides an inherent knack for meanness, a penchant for believing they were superior, and, as far as he'd seen, a lack of respect for fighting fair.

If anything, Draco Malfoy exemplified all of these behaviors, but with a snide bitterness (no doubt built up over the years by his upbringing) that made him just a cut above the rest; at least, as far as being a complete and utter prat went. This was still the rule more than the exception, however, at least, in Harry's eyes. The less time he had to spend in Malfoy's company, the less time that was spent balling up his fists and biting his tongue so as to avoid punishment for lashing out in the presence of teachers.

So it was largely to his dismay when he found out that Malfoy was expected, along with the rest of the Hogwarts' seventh years, to take a Muggle Studies course. In an attempt to squelch the stereotypes (more like 'common knowledge', in Harry's opinion) that Slytherins were all pureblood Muggle haters and just as nurturing as the other three houses, and apparently also to try to land Harry in St. Mungo's before the year was up, Dumbledore was requiring the class as an elective, "for anyone who contemplates graduating."

As with many of the course schedules, the Slytherins and Gryffindors had their lessons together, a set-up Harry had always found counter-productive, and even moreso when it came to Muggle Studies. A class that the Slytherins loathed being forced to participate in, they never failed to insert snide comments whenever possible, and if their jeering was directed at the Gryffindors, so much the better.

Harry, who wouldn't have taken Muggle Studies if given the choice, nonetheless enjoyed the class. Being a half-Muggle, and having been brought up in a non-Wizarding household (albeit, with rather undesirable Muggles), he already knew quite a lot about the material. So at the very least, the class provided an easy opportunity in which to earn high marks, which would help to balance out his barely satisfactory Potions grade. At least, that's what Harry thought before the mid-term field trip.

Arabella Figg, the elderly squib who had been the Dursleys' neighbour for years, was asked by Dumbledore to teach the class; she was hesitant until he assured her that all of her cats could come along. (Harry had heard rumour that one of the male ones had taken a liking to Mrs. Norris, and also that Mrs. Figg and Argus Filch had enjoyed tea together on a couple of separate occasions.) She seemed to have adapted rather well to the Wizarding world after living as a Muggle for so long, and the class was really quite interesting, despite the Slytherins' blathering. Mrs. Figg - or rather, Professor - had accumulated quite a lot of knowledge and knick-knacks over the years, and while the lesson on how to use an electric coffee maker was not particularly fascinating to Harry, the set of kimonos and porcelain traditional tea ceremony cups she'd brought, purchased long ago on a family trip to Japan, were really quite interesting.

And yet, the midterm, which required the class to go to Muggle London for an afternoon and purchase things at various locations with a partner, would have been potentially fun if Harry could have had Ron for a partner. As it was, Hermione wasn't even in his class; since her schedule was so crammed full, she'd elected, as per Professor McGonagall's guidance, to take Muggle Studies with a group of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Not that it would have made much of a difference; Mrs. Figg, in true Dumbledore fashion, had decided that a good way to emphasize House unity was to pair up the Gryffindors and Slytherins as much as possible. Harry's stomach had sank when she announced this; it about dropped to the floor when she announced that he would be spending the day in Muggle London with Malfoy.

"I feel for you, mate," Ron had sympathized, being partnered with Vincent Crabbe. Draco, too, had whined quite efficiently, but had finally settled into harassing Harry about "feeling right at home" since "his mother was a Mudblood and all". He'd only said it once before Harry, the taller of the two by a good couple of inches, had made a point to recall strategically aloud how he had pummeled Malfoy during fifth year. Fearing another attack by the Boy Who Lived (not to mention, another talking-to from his father, aristocratic ass-kisser of the Dark Lord, and the single person who probably knew better than anyone about facades, about not putting on a more convincing mask at school), Draco had resigned himself to simply making gratuitous jabs at the distinctly non-magical feel of the Muggle world. "You mean we have to pour our own hot tea, even?" he'd muttered distastefully when they stopped at a diner for lunch.

"You know we're not supposed to use any spells, Malfoy," Harry enunciated, crunching into his BLT sandwhich to give himself an excuse not to talk.

"I know," Draco continued, unabashed. "It's almost barbaric, don't you think? I suppose you don't," he said decidedly, returning Harry's raised eyebrow with a simpering smile; "since you grew up here and all."

After lunch they stopped by a bookstore, a place specializing in hardware where Malfoy was mildly smitten by the hammers, and a department store, where he was aghast to see how shoddily the brooms were treated. At the end of the day, Harry's feet were sore, his eyes were drooping, and his head was poundin; it was worse than an entire period of Double Potions with Snape. Hell, it was almost worse than the ache in his hand during one of Professor Umbridge's more "creative" punishments. "So, how did I do?" Draco asked suddenly in a disgustingly cheerful tone. Harry, hunting for the Portkey (an old soup can), was a bit taken aback.

"Well," he replied, pretending to ruminate on it. "First off, it's really not a good idea to pay for something completely with pennies." Malfoy grinned as Harry looked at him dubiously. "How did you *get* that many pennies, anyways?"

"One of our house elves used to hoard them," Malfoy replied. "What else?"

"Second, you weren't fooling anyone when that toilet just 'mysteriously flooded' in the restaurant," Harry continued dryly. Draco sniggered, not even bothering to hide his mirth.

"Third," Harry said testily, arms crossed as the Portkey brought them back to Wizarding territory; "just because Muggles don't *know* you're insulting them by calling them 'dirty Mudblood flobberworms' doesn't mean it's right to do."

"Oh, like they hardly think about it for more than two seconds," Malfoy said airily. He seemed to have regained his undaunted arrogance. "Not like you, Potter, who gets his knickers in a twist over it. I guess it runs in the family, though," he said snidely. "Why, I bet your Mudblood mother is spinning in her gra-"

Harry, without another word, wound up and punched Draco in the nose.


End file.
